


Some things you just don't want to know

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No loopholes?" Peter didn't reply, and Neal made himself look. Peter's lips were a thin straight line. "No," said Neal. "Got it."</p><p>Episode tag for 2.14</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some things you just don't want to know

**Author's Note:**

> For zebra363, with many thanks for her donation to NZ earthquake relief.
> 
> Thanks to dragonfly for beta.

Afternoon sun streamed in the window behind Hughes, making his office uncomfortably stuffy. He dug in his desk drawer for some Tylenol and swallowed a couple, washing them down with the last of his coffee and hoping they'd dispel his incipient headache before it took hold. Reports wouldn't write themselves. He was typing his password into his computer screensaver when Burke stuck his head in the door. "You wanted me?"

Hughes swiveled away from the computer and looked up. Peter didn't seem any the worse for his kidnapping earlier that week. He'd shown up to work the next day as if nothing had happened, and the whole office had been riding a tide of relief and good humor ever since.

"Peter, I'm concerned. I think we might have a situation on our hands," said Hughes, beckoning him inside.

Peter closed the door and sat down. "What's this about?"

"You and Caffrey." Hughes had decided earlier that the direct approach would be least uncomfortable for both of them.

For a split second, Peter froze, then seemed to deliberately relax. He leaned back in his chair. Hughes was sure he was holding something back, but equally convinced Peter didn't know what was coming next. Damn, this was awkward.

"Could you be more specific?" Peter sounded as if he were choosing his words carefully.

"I know you've been through a lot together," said Hughes. "You've gotten close."

Peter tilted his head. "Partners do that."

And that was the crux of the matter right there, or one of them. Hughes was almost grateful Burke had given him such an easy lead-in. "He's not your partner. He's your CI, and he's on probation under your supervision."

"I know that," said Peter curtly. His gaze remained steady, if mulish. But he'd always been protective of his people.

"Your methods are becoming increasingly unorthodox," Hughes told him. "It's not what I expect of you."

Peter shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. "We get results. We have the best clearance rate in the Bureau."

"But at what cost?" Hughes leaned forward and gestured to the heavy tomes on the wall of his office. "The FBI manual isn't a work of whimsy, Peter. Warrant law wasn't written by the Brothers Grimm. We have regulations and protocols for a reason, and Caffrey doesn't hesitate to circumvent them whenever it suits him. He needs a firmer hand."

Peter digested this for a moment. "Has there been a specific complaint?"

"Not yet." Hughes took a breath. "I wanted to talk to you now, before things go too far. Peter, I've known you a long time, and I hope you know I have your best interests at heart when I say this." There was no mistaking the tension in the air, now. Hughes fixed Peter with his gaze. "If Caffrey were a woman and you weren't married, I'd think I was looking at another Jack Franklin situation."

Peter blinked. "That's not even—" He flushed and met Hughes's eye. "It's not like that. It's nothing like that."

Hughes held up his hand to halt the denials, hiding his own relief. "I know, I know. But my point still remains: you're too close to him. You need to step back and establish some boundaries. Rein him in. I know you rely on him, but you're a government agent, and that has to take precedence at all times."

"All right." Peter still seemed thrown. He frowned at the floor for a moment, then glanced at Hughes. "Was there anything else?"

"You inspire a lot of loyalty in your team, Peter. Use that." Hughes softened his tone. "I'm saying this for your own good."

Peter nodded sharply. "I know. I'll—I'll deal with it."

"Is it going to be a problem?"

"No," said Peter. "No, it's fine."

Hughes sat back, letting himself relax. "Okay. If there's anything you need—"

"I know." Peter stood up and went to the door.

"Oh, and Peter?" Hughes waited until Peter turned back to face him. "Despite the unconventional methods, I'm truly glad you're all right. It would have been a great loss to the Bureau, and personally too."

Peter nodded and left.

Hughes rested his hands on his computer keyboard and frowned unseeingly at the password field. Then he shrugged, typed in the string of letters and numbers, and got back to work. Burke was a good agent. Hughes could count on him to deal with the matter properly. His headache was already starting to subside.

* * *

Neal sat at his desk, pretending to go through cold cases, but he was really covertly monitoring Peter's meeting with Hughes. Something was going on. As soon as Peter started toward Hughes' door, Neal grabbed his empty coffee cup, filled it and sauntered over to the stairs. He reached Peter's office the same time Peter did. "What did Hughes want?"

"Budget cuts," said Peter. He looked grim, and he was either distracted or avoiding Neal's eye.

Neal followed him into his office and lounged in the visitor's chair, waiting.

Peter sat down at his desk, but he didn't pull anything out of his in-tray or move to access his computer. The energy and exuberance that had been powering him through the week since he'd freed himself from Lang's prison and made the arrest seemed to have evaporated. He looked at Neal, sat back in his chair and sighed. "What now?"

"'Budget cuts' is what you say when you don't want to say what's really going on," explained Neal.

"You probably haven't noticed, but we're in a recession," said Peter, drily. He was hiding something. Neal smoothed his tie and waited some more. Besieging Peter was fun and it almost always worked, mostly because Peter was a slave to self-consciousness. True to form, he cracked after barely a minute. Also true to form, he went on the offensive. "Tell me about the ring."

"It's nothing." Neal put his coffee cup on the corner of the desk and swiped a stress ball. He tossed it into the air, waiting for further questions or a change of subject. But now Peter was playing the siege game. Neal got up and went to look out over the office.

"It's worth two and a half million," said Peter. "You didn't sell it. How long have you been holding onto it?"

"I wasn't holding onto it," said Neal. He turned back. "Why?" Peter sent him an exasperated look, and Neal sighed inwardly. Mozzie would be horrified—and even more paranoid—if he ever found out how helpless Neal became in the face of Peter's interrogations. "I've known its location for about six years, give or take."

Peter nodded, unsurprised. "You were going to give it to Kate."

A thrill shivered up Neal's spine. Having Peter's intellect turned on him was like a double shot of the best espresso money could buy. It took some effort to keep his expression bland. "Something like that. Does Hughes want you to arrest me?"

Peter shook his head.

"Then what did he want?"

Peter's shoulders hunched slightly. "Do you have to know everything?"

"Apparently not." Neal shoved his hands in his pockets and let the silence lengthen, but Peter didn't give in this time. "Listen, it's been a long week. You want to grab a drink?"

"Can't," said Peter.

No excuse, no reason. Neal was starting to worry. "Elizabeth expecting you home?"

"Something like that." For a second, neither of them moved, not even a breath. Then a phone rang in the outer office, Diana answered it, and Peter got up and shut the door. He stood there, hidden from Diana and Jones and the rest of the team. As private as possible, given the glass walls. Neal raised his eyebrows, and Peter looked him right in the eye. "Neal, if I've—If I've overstepped the mark in any way. If I've led you to think—"

It took a split second for understanding to hit, and then Neal's stomach swooped. The one thing between them they'd never talked about, never acknowledged, wild and bright and forbidden, and now Peter was pinning it down with words. Neal might have run if Peter hadn't blocked his way. Because there was nothing in Peter's expression that said this could end well, and Neal needed it, needed the intoxicating possibilities of it to keep the drudgery of work and the restrictions of his radius at bay.

But Peter stood in his path, more solid and real than the office architecture of doors and glass, frowning with concern.

"You haven't," said Neal, trying to end the conversation before it began. "Look, I should—"

"It has to stop," said Peter, his voice low and mesmerizing. "We have to—"

"—stop." Neal's eyes widened, despite his best efforts.

Peter dipped his head in agreement. "Distance. Find the brakes."

Neal's lips were dry. He licked them. "Hughes?"

"And God only knows who else," said Peter. He leaned his shoulder against the door and grimaced apologetically. "I didn't—see it coming. I should have, but I'm not—"

"—gay." Neal knew that. Should have known that.

"I'm not good at this stuff," Peter continued, talking over him as if he hadn't heard, though the flush in his cheeks suggested otherwise. "I'm married. And I'm in no position to—"

"I know," Neal interrupted. "But Peter, I—"

"Don't." Peter made it sound definitive. Like _the end_ as credits started to roll. Like the crack of a gun.

Neal had never accepted defeat lightly. "What if—"

"No." One word, firm and regretful.

It was the regret that made Neal look away. He swallowed and forced a laugh, but it came out breathy and sad. "That's how it is."

"It's how it is." Peter, the immovable object. He sounded gentle now, as if he could see Neal's guts twisting up inside.

Neal couldn't look at him. "No loopholes?" Peter didn't reply, and Neal made himself look. Peter's lips were a thin straight line. "No," said Neal. "Got it."

Peter didn't say _I'm sorry_. He didn't need to.

Neal cast about for a joke, something to break the moment so Peter would move away from the door and Neal could get the hell out of there. He had nothing.

Like divine intervention, Peter's phone rang.

"Bet that's Elizabeth," said Neal, already thinking he should send her flowers, except it would look like guilt. There was no way to explain desperate gratitude.

Peter's hand brushed his arm, a ghost of what might have been, and he went to answer the phone. The moment the door was clear, Neal slipped outside.

Diana looked up as he passed, sharp-eyed, making him aware he'd left his coffee on Peter's desk. "Everything okay, Neal?" she asked.

"What?" Neal didn't stop. "Yeah, it's good. Fine. Everyone's right where they belong." He went to his desk and folded into the chair, keeping up appearances as best he could. So that was that. Peter had said no. Neal was smart enough that he'd always known this moment would come, but faint ridiculous hope had been enough to keep him going. Now he wasn't even allowed hope.

He could get it back if he tried. He was Neal Caffrey, and a simple no had never deterred him before. He could overcome impossible odds, and Peter wasn't impervious. Neal looked across to the mezzanine, saw him on the phone, probably talking to Elizabeth, making plans for the weekend. Domestic and innocent. Their love was an artwork Neal couldn't steal or forge; any attack on it would be ugly, selfish vandalism.

Hughes was standing on the mezzanine, watching him like a vulture, his expression impassive. Neal felt a stab of pride and raised his chin, staring back until Hughes gave him a brusque nod and went back into his office.

Then Neal reached for his jacket, settled his hat on his head and left.

The sun was loud, sending jagged shadows of people and objects sprawling across the concrete sidewalk as he made his way home. Peter was safe, that was what mattered. He and Elizabeth could continue as if nothing had happened. As if Neal had never brought Keller into their lives.

As for the rest of it, Mozzie had been right this time: love was the biggest con, promising everything, delivering zip, zero, nada. The Burkes could keep it. Neal wasn't going to fall for it again. He'd find some other star to follow: intellectual pursuits, justice or crime. Some combination of them all, perhaps, complex enough to consume his attention. Some way to keep going, keep going and pass the time.


End file.
